


Baby, I'm Your Biggest Fan

by saradise48



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, M/M, and I'm not promising a pt 2 with Auston and Mitch but like....maybe, as in this time Dylan goes to BU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saradise48/pseuds/saradise48
Summary: He was here to get paid and maybe get some homework done if they had him come in for an early afternoon shift on a weekday. Nothing more.At least, that had been the plan until Connor McDavid showed up.





	Baby, I'm Your Biggest Fan

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts folder titled "idk bro" for over a month if that tells you anything
> 
> (And for the sake of the story, let's pretend Connor is more than just a walking sound bite and that this universe's NHL is all sunshine and rainbows and being an openly gay player is chill and fine. Okay? Okay.)

Dylan felt pretty average about his job working at the Frog Pond skating rink in Boston over the winters. It paid decent, even better since he was a college student entirely convinced BU was trying to drain him of every last penny he had. His best friend was his coworker too, and Auston constantly cracking jokes while they handed out rental skates to people kept him entertained enough to pass the time during their shifts. 

The problem as of late was that Auston was entirely distracted all the time by a new regular who had spent entirely too much money on admission in the past few weeks just to loiter by the skate rental counter and flirt. Dylan had seen the guy—Mitch was his name—skate exactly once the first time he had shown up with a few of his friends at the start of all of this with his own pair of skates, brand new Bauers. He had been absolutely _terrible_. Even Dylan was a better skater, and he had laced up a pair of skates once since he had landed this job two years ago as a freshman. But Auston had been infatuated ever since.

Auston hadn’t shut up about him since. Dylan was still teaching himself to tune it out when he started to wax poetic about Mitch’s eyes. 

One of the perks of the job definitely was the amount of guys that came through the rental counter, but Dylan had never given the majority of them more than a passing glance. He was here to get paid and maybe get some homework done if they had him come in for an early afternoon shift on a weekday. Nothing more.

At least, that had been the plan until Connor McDavid showed up. And look, Dylan may not have really given a shit about hockey before he started college, but he went to BU and it was hard to ignore it when it was shoved in his face every weekend. So yeah, he may have tried to say he didn’t know who Connor McDavid was, but Dylan damn well knew who Connor McDavid was.

It was a Saturday night and Dylan had just wrapped up his second round of midterms and had been running back and forth among the shelves of skates with Auston for the better part of four hours already. So that was his excuse for why when Connor asked for a size nine, Dylan glanced down at Connor’s socked feet on the other side of the counter and blurted out, “Your skate size should be one less than your shoe size.”

Auston, who didn’t even have time to talk to Mitch even though he had been hovering off to the side for the past half hour, punched Dylan in the thigh below the counter where Connor couldn’t see. “The customer is always right,” he mumbled through his smile at the next person he was helping. 

“Size nine, please,” Connor repeated, still smiling. 

“If you could grab two nines I’d appreciate it,” his brother—Connor had a brother right? Dylan thought so but his mind was pretty much incapable of all basic functions at this point—piped up from behind him. 

“Sure.”

Dylan took a second once he made it to the size tens to bang his head against the metal shelf’s post a few times. “No trying to knock yourself unconscious on the job, bro,” Auston piped up from the other side of the shelf. Dylan glared through the skate boots before picking up two pairs. He debated for a second, then put the second pair down and grabbed a size ten on the way back to the counter. First overall pick or not, Dylan knew he was right. Connor probably wouldn’t even notice anyway. 

“Thanks,” Connor said, grabbing for the size tens Dylan made sure to place in front of him specifically before giving his brother the nines. Connor turned to walk away and let the next person in line step up to the counter, but he stopped abruptly and turned back around. “What’s your name?”

“Dylan,” he choked out, sure his face was bright red but hoping Connor passed it off as being caused by the cold. 

“Nice to meet you, Dylan. Thanks for the tip about my skates,” he said, still smiling, then finally wandered off in the direction his brother had gone. 

A while later, once the crowd had died down a for a bit, Auston and Mitch both laughed in his face. Dylan threw a pen at Auston while keeping an eye on the ice where Connor and his brother were standing in the center taking photos with some people. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I cannot believe you tried to tell first overall _Connor McDavid_ what size skates he should wear,” Auston snorted.

“I hate you. Why are we friends? Northeastern is shit, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Like BU is any better,” Mitch mumbled with a smirk.

Dylan scowled, “You don’t have much room to talk, BC boy.”

“You go to BU?” Dylan heard from behind him where he was leaning on the counter, making him jump in surprise. He turned around and immediately felt his face burn when he saw it was Connor who was talking to him. Auston and Mitch were both gone when Dylan glanced back where they had been and he cursed them silently while he answered Connor.

“Yeah. I’m a junior.” Connor propped his arm on the counter, apparently perfectly content to talk while there was no one in line for skates. Dylan glanced around at the crowd that was mobbing the benches nearby while the zamboni was clearing the ice. No one even cast a second glance at Connor. 

“Nice. I almost went there myself. Eichs and I talked about it a couple times. I don’t think he was too keen on the idea.”

“This kid had an Oilers shirt on in class once and Jack almost lost it.”

“You know him?”

“He was in my calc lecture freshman year, sat behind me the first discussion so we ended up working together a few times for homeworks and stuff. I know him but I wasn’t ever really friends with him I don’t think.”

“Nice. Hey so-”

“Did you have skates to return?” Dylan cut him off, suddenly eager to end the conversation. He grimaced internally, realizing that he had been a dick to Connor McDavid twice in the last two hours now. So much for trying to minimize the damage and get the conversation over. 

“Uh, yeah. Hang on, I’m gonna go grab my brother’s too.”

“Dude,” Auston chirped from the shelves. Dylan jumped again, spinning to face him.

“Whatever. Go stare at Mitch or something,” Dylan rolled his eyes huddling up to the heater in the corner. “Where is he anyway?”

“He left. Couldn’t handle the awkward.”

“What from you not pulling your head out of your ass and asking him out already?” Dylan questioned ignoring the glare he got in return. 

“You know-” but Dylan was saved from Auston finishing that thought when Connor reappeared at the counter with two pairs of skates. 

“Thanks,” Dylan said, grabbing for them and pretending to tuck the laces into the boot of one of them to avoid eye contact but not quite ready to walk away all of a sudden. As much has Dylan had made a total fool of himself in front of a literal legend, he was glued to where he was standing.

“Connor!” his brother called from one of the benches off to the side. 

“Hang on!” he called back only turning his head enough so his voice would travel back but not enough to break eye contact. He was wearing a small smile despite how fucking awkward Dylan felt and knew this entire encounter was. Maybe he’d be able to forget tonight at some point but it wasn’t going to be any time in the near future, he was sure. Still, somehow he was grinning back at Connor. “Uh—yeah, thanks again. See you,” Connor finally said, but he looked like he wanted to say something else.

Dylan shrugged it off internally and watched as Connor backed away from the counter then disappeared into the crowd with his brother. Once he was out of sight and Dylan was sure there was no one else that needed help right now immediately, he let go of the skates and dropped his head into his arms on the counter.

“ _Dude_ ,” Auston said from behind him as he picked the skates back up. He disappeared to put them away before Dylan could pick his head back up and reply. 

-

“Are you the one who told Connor McDavid he wore the wrong skate size?” Dylan heard someone ask from where he was behind one of the shelves of figure skates. He peered through the gaps and saw a group of girls all with their phones out. Just what Dylan needed: more people who spent money on admission just to bother him and not to actually skate. Like he needed another Mitch in his life. 

“Uh, sorry?” Auston replied.

“We saw it on instagram, his brother posted about it. Are you the guy?” 

“No, he’s actually off today,” Auston said turning and looking back at Dylan where he finally reemerged to hand off skates to two teenage boys. 

“Will he be back tomorrow?” another one pressed. Dylan smothered a grimace in the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Aus had it wrong actually, the guy quit yesterday,” Dylan cut in. “Sorry.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Auston said once the girls realized they weren’t budging and moved on. Dylan agreed. 

“His brother posted about it?” Dylan groaned while Auston pulled out his phone. 

“That’s not all, bud.” Dylan grabbed for Auston’s phone and saw the top ten articles were all some version of “ _Boston rink worker explains to Connor McDavid he wears the wrong skate size_ ,” and Dylan was about ready to quit this job, drop out of BU and become a hermit if it meant he didn’t have to deal with this. And no, he was not being overdramatic. _Sports Illustrated_ had picked up the story, what the _hell_. 

Auston started reading, “‘I’m sure he meant well—I’m not sure if he thought I wouldn’t notice but he gave me the pair he was trying to talk me into. They were a little big but they did the trick,’ McDavid said on Tuesday.”

“Well, it was nice knowing you Auston but-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Auston continued as someone came up to the counter. “What size?” he asked them then disappeared to the shelves for a moment. Once he had passed the skates off, he pulled his phone back out of his hoodie pocket and continued, “‘Yeah—he said he goes to BU so I wasn’t going to argue with him. Like I said, he was nice about it.’”

Auston fiddled with his phone for another minute while Dylan contemplated the best way to tell his parents that he wouldn’t be getting a degree after all. A video started playing and Auston thrust his phone in front of him. 

“‘Did he know who he was talking to when he was making his ‘suggestion’? Was this his way of flirting?’” Connor smiled a little, but muffled it in a cough. 

“‘Yeah, he knew who I was. We—really it’s no big deal.’”

“I hate this. He’s not even gay,” Dylan said, matter of fact. 

“Bro, that’s the closest to expressing real human emotions in front of the press he’s gotten literally ever. He may not be out, but any straight guy I know would shut down any kind of implication like that in a second.”

“And?” Dylan questioned, really not in the mood, but Auston wasn’t getting the hint. 

“ _And_ , it’s because you didn’t just bow down to Connor McDavid and let him have everything he wanted.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Tell me where it says that, all I did was not give him the skates he deliberately asked for. That’s just poor customer service.”

“Whatever, dude. You know I’m right. It’ll blow over, though, don’t worry, okay?” Auston said, clapping Dylan hard enough on the back to make him cough. Dylan glared but all Auston did was laugh and turn to the couple that was approaching the counter. 

-

Despite what Auston had insisted, it in fact didn’t blow over. Dylan wasn’t sure what Connor had to deal with that wasn’t covered in published articles, but from what he had seen, Connor had been able to move on with his life after that first interview. Dylan, on the other hand, had gone home for the rest of December for winter break two weeks after The Incident and now _another_ two weeks later was still being questioned about it at least once a shift. 

People on social media had been going crazy trying to figure out who the mystery worker who was flirting with Connor McDavid through talking about skate sizes really was, and they had been successful. This was some FBI shit with people who had been at the rink that night cross referencing photos to see who was working and eventually narrowing it down to Auston and Dylan. 

Dylan wished he didn’t pay as close attention as he did to it all, but it at least left him prepared for when people somehow started finding his instagram and spreading it everywhere. 

“How the fuck do people have time for all of this? Do they really have nothing better to do with their days?” Dylan complained to Mitch and Auston while he declined the most recent wave of follow requests. 

“Apparently not, dude,” Mitch said, sympathetic. That was another recent development that Dylan didn’t have the energy for—Mitch had at some point made the transition from being a thorn in Dylan’s side to an actual friend. Auston still hadn’t done anything about his stupid crush, but Dylan could see it coming. 

“I guarantee Connor doesn’t have to deal with any of this bullshit anymore. Jesus, it was a month and a half ago, when are people going to drop it?”

“People are desperate for any kind of connection they can get to their idols, hopefully it’ll die out soon,” Auston shrugged, brushing past Dylan to get something from his backpack in the corner He passed off whatever it was to Mitch before returning to his original spot. 

“You should reach out to Connor. See if he can get people to fuck off and leave you alone.”

“Yeah, not fucking happening,” Dylan laughed. He was not about to make a fool of himself again. Someone would find out somehow and this whole disaster would start all over again. 

“You really should, Dyl. I’m sure he has no idea what happened and he’d want to fix it,” Auston pressed. Dylan looked over at Mitch when he noticed he was too quiet and saw he had his nose buried in his phone while he typed away furiously.

Dylan shrugged and turned to the next person that needed skates. When he came back his phone was on the counter and Mitch and Auston were grinning. “How the hell did you get my phone?” Dylan asked. Mitch only pushed his phone towards him. 

Dylan picked it up and saw it was open to a pending DM request on instagram to Connor: _hey its dylan, the guy from the skate counter at the frog pond in boston. i know u probs meant well when u talked abt me @ ur press thing last month but people wont leave me alone about it so id appreciate it if u could tell them to stop or something thx._

“Mitch, I know we were cool but I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“If someone didn’t do it it wasn’t going to stop.”

“He’ll never fucking believe it’s me. Does he even run his own instagram?”

“Well, if he doesn’t someone who can do something about this will find it.”

“When did you take my phone?” Dylan turned to Auston. He only grinned innocently. “I hate both of you.”

“We’re trying to help, Dyl, shut up. Unless you want to be miserable.”

“Miserable is my entire aesthetic, bro.”

-

Things finally started to die down in the next week. Dylan stopped using instagram both because he didn’t want to deal with the follow requests that still continued to come in but also because he didn’t want to have to see if Connor saw the DM Mitch had sent him. People started at least being less obvious about it when they came to the rink just to ogle the spot of The Incident, enough that Dylan could ignore them and work or talk with Auston and Mitch. 

It was almost the end of January now, and Dylan had just started up the spring semester now, too, so he had plenty to do other than lament over the current state of his life. 

Of course, then, that was when Connor McDavid reappeared. 

Dylan wasn’t even working when it happened, but Auston must have picked up an extra shift because he called Dylan in the middle of his psych lecture three times because Dylan was actually trying to pass this class and ignored the first two. 

The only reason he had ducked out of the lecture hall to answer the third call from Auston was because he had texted in between _pick up your damn phone strome_.

“What? I’m in class, asshole,” he answered.

“Connor McDavid is here at the rink and he’s asking for you. Get your ass here now this is more important than any class you or I will ever take.”

“Oh my god,” Dylan replied, but he rushed back in to grab his stuff from his desk and then booked it down to the Common as fast as he could.

Two T trains expressed through the BU East stop, leaving Dylan to wait an extra ten minutes, and by the time he got off the train at Park Street, he was a panicky mess. Dylan knew he looked like a walking—running considering he was almost sprinting through the Common to get to the rink—disaster since he had an 8am this morning and had rolled out of bed at 7:55, but he was only focused on the fact that Connor had showed up at the rink again and was asking for _him_. What had his life become?

He slowed down to a brisk walk once the rink was in sight, and slipped past Jennifer at the register with a quick nod before making a beeline for the skate rental counter where Auston was waiting. “What the fuck?” Dylan said in greeting, tossing his bag over the counter at Auston. 

“Hey,” he heard from behind him. Dylan turned around and came face to face with Connor, and he forced himself to square his shoulders and not turn and run behind the counter. 

“Hey.”

“You never replied to me.”

“What...?”

“The DM you sent me on instagram, I replied a couple days later when I saw it, but then I never heard anything back,” Connor said, tugging at his baseball cap. 

“I uninstalled the app on my phone. I was tired of all of the people trying to follow me just because they knew I had some brief interaction with you.” Dylan was beyond grateful it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday because it meant that the rink was almost completely dead and that the closest person was Auston who had disappeared behind the shelves when Connor appeared. 

“I’m really sorry, I had no idea it blew up so much for you—everyone dropped it for me after those articles got published. PR tried to tell me I said too much, but I thought it would be fine.”

“Well, not really. But you didn’t have to come all the way out here on your bye week for this,” Dylan said, cringing because there he went again knowing too much.

“That was kind of only part of the reason.”

“Oh, uh, can I ask why else? It’s pretty nasty here, I’m not sure why...” Dylan trailed off, pointing vaguely at the piles of black snow that had accumulated on the grass on the other side of the fencing around the rink. The only thing uglier than Boston in January was Boston in March when everything finally started melting in earnest. 

“Uh, you should probably just read what I wrote on instagram,” Connor replied, tugging at his hat again.

Dylan blinked, “I deleted the app.”

It took Connor a second of staring blankly, but he snapped out of it quickly and practically yanked his phone out of his pocket. “I had to ask my manager what the password for my account was before I found your message. It’s the first time I’ve been on in a while,” Connor said while he pulled up their conversation. “Here.”

 _Hey! I’m so sorry, I swear I had no idea that was going on, I’m gonna talk to a few people in PR and see what they think the best way to go about this is_ was the first message.

The next came a few hours after, _So I talked to one of the ladies, Jillian, and she said it might be a good idea for me to put out a statement or tweet or something since I’m the cause of this whole thing. I’m really sorry again._

Finally, the third was a day later, _I’m not sure if you’re getting these, I hope you are. If there’s anything else I can do to help in the meantime, though, let me know. You seemed really cool when we were talking I’m sorry I caused all this. I keep apologizing, my bad. But yeah, let me know._

_Also, sorry, but a few of the reporters asked me right after this happened if this was your way of flirting with me. It sounds dumb now but I just wanted to ask since obviously I have no idea what you were thinking._

_Sorry, that was really dumb. I hope what I said to the press fixes everything for you._

“Um.”

“Sorry. Was that too much?”

Dylan couldn’t help but smile. “You really do say sorry a lot. Not doing a lot to help the Canadian stereotype.”

Connor shrugged, but he was smiling now too. “I don’t mean to, like, pressure you for an answer, or anything, but...”

“Oh, uh, I mean, giving you the skate size you didn’t ask for definitely wasn’t me flirting.” Dylan watched as Connor’s face fell, and he rushed to finish speaking. “But everything else was. If you want it to be, obviously. Otherwise, I can totally fuck off,” Dylan said, pointing his thumb back toward the rental counter. 

“And if I wanted it to be?” Connor asked and Dylan felt all the air leave his lungs at once. 

“Then it was definitely flirting,” Dylan squeaked out, jamming his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

“Oh. Cool.” 

They stared at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. “That’s it?” Dylan said finally once he had caught his breath. “Cool is all I get?”

“I mean, I had been getting ready to ask you to dinner tonight. Or lunch, if you haven’t eaten yet?” Dylan gaped and Connor seemed to panic, “Is that weird? Too much?”

“No—no definitely not. Lunch sounds great, I haven’t eaten all day.”

Connor made a face, but agreed easy enough. Dylan was about to suggest a few places near campus, but Connor looked contemplative, like he wanted to say something else, so he stayed quiet and waited instead. 

“Again, if this is weird just tell me, but can I kiss you?” Dylan gaped again—it was apparently a new standard look for him—but snapped out of it quickly enough to nod as Connor continued with a smirk, “I’ve kind of been wanting to do it since you gave me the wrong size skates.” 

Dylan rolled his eyes, “You got the fans off my ass but I’m still never going to hear the end of that one am I?”

“Nope,” Connor said as he tugged Dylan toward him by his arm and pressed their smiles together.

**Author's Note:**

> As someone from a beanpot school this was entirely self indulgent and I have zero regrets (it was the hardest decision I've ever made to have Mitch go to BC, I'm sorry but that line just worked too well.)
> 
> Also no one asked but in this universe Law goes to Philly (idk Florida trades their pick or something don't look too in depth at this) and Werenski ends up in Detroit. Sorry I don't make the rules but those are the rules


End file.
